


When The Need Arises

by Omorka



Category: Eureka
Genre: Comfort Sex, Het, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is only one way to console a widow. But remember the risk." -Lazarus Long</p><p>Grief makes people do strange and desperate things.  Allison is no exception.  And Fargo's always desperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Need Arises

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions past canon character death, but if you got this far you probably figured that out. Spoilers through "I Do Over."

In some ways, this was worse than the last time. When Kevin's father had died, it had been just as sudden, but he hadn't chosen his fate. Nathan, it was very clear, had. It was selfish of her to be angry at him for that - she understood that if he hadn't laid his life down in that lab, then he'd almost certainly be just as dead, and so would she, and so would everyone else they knew. There was no telling how great the death toll would have been; it might even have meant the end of the space-time continuum itself. Nathan's sacrifice had been entirely necessary.

It was not possible for Allison Blake to describe how much she hated her job right now.

And in the same way that it was selfish of her to blame Nathan, to be furious with him that he'd died - no, that he'd _volunteered_ to die - she knew it was not just selfish but wrong of her to be angry at Jack. He'd told her exactly what had happened, every word of it, once, and then he'd offered her nothing but support and blessed silence. She understood that if he could have managed it, he would have been in the photon chamber. The knowledge that yet another man was willing to die for her - for Eureka, for the world, sure, but they'd both been thinking of her - was not comforting. Mostly it just made her even angrier.

Kevin had been remarkably calm about it. It wasn't that he didn't care; he'd cried at Nathan's memorial service, but not since then. He was being very gentle with her. Once again, she knew she was being selfish when she took his paternal grandmother up on her offer to take care of him for a week. Separating him from his mother, his familiar surroundings, his home, when he'd lost someone who'd been a father to him, was exactly what she was not supposed to do.

In short, she'd managed to isolate herself from pretty much everyone who loved her, because company burned too much. Every gesture of caring, every intimation of love, reminded her too much of everything and everyone she'd ever lost.

She was sitting on the couch wondering if she should just go back to work, lock herself in her office, and throw herself into the pressures of the job, when her doorbell rang. She glanced at her phone to see if she'd missed a call - if Jack had been trying to get in touch with her and she hadn't answered, he'd show up as certainly as gravity bringing a rock to ground - but the little screen showed nothing. She debated just not answering the door, but the habits of a lifetime of politeness dragged her off the couch.

Cringing on her porch was Douglas Fargo, clutching a paper bag. He jumped when she opened the door and nearly dropped it, before recovering enough to speak. "Oh, Dr. Blake, hi," he blurted, his voice breaking. "I, uh, I was baking again and I thought you might like -" He shoved the bag at her and looked like he was about to bolt.

More out of habit than curiosity, she looked in the bag. There was a full pan of coffee cake in the bottom, complete with a drizzle of icing. She wasn't hungry. "Thanks, Fargo, but I -"

She met his eyes. It was difficult. Not only was he looking frantically everywhere else but at her, but his glasses were filthy. Some of the encrustation was flour, but most of it was the rime of dried tears.

Damn. She was looking at the one person in town who might be taking Nathan's death almost as hard as she was.

"Have you had breakfast yet? Why don't you come in, Fargo? We'll share it." Why she was contemplating breaking her isolation for him, when she hadn't for anyone else, even Jack, she wasn't sure. Maybe there was something faintly comforting about seeing someone else's self-indulgent grief. It made her feel as if her own unreasonableness wasn't quite so bad.

"Um, are you sure?" Fargo looked like he expected someone to yell at him at any minute.

She paused. Was she? "Yeah, come in. We'll split a piece." She held the door open for him, and he darted through.

Leading him to the kitchen, she set the bag down and hunted in the drawer for a knife. Fargo perched on one of her kitchen stools and looked around, as if he were compulsively cataloguing everything that had changed since the last time he'd been here. God, that had been when she was still sort-of dating Warren. She levered out two squares of coffee cake and offered one plate to her nervous assistant, who took it and hunted for a fork.

She forced herself to take a bite, even though she wasn't really hungry. It wasn't bad. It wasn't Vince's, of course, but few things were. "Thank you, Fargo. This is really good."

"It's not Cafe Diem's," he echoed her thoughts and shrugged, wolfing down the rest of his slice. He fidgeted on the kitchen stool, poised between bolting and - what? There was something more than his usual nervousness in his bearing, even more than simple grief.

She turned towards the refrigerator. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yeah." He slid off the stool. "Would you mind if I made coffee?"

"No, not at all. I'd be happy to - " She paused, then stepped back and let him program the machine. It wasn't as if it required any particular effort. She opened the fridge and found the half-and-half, at the back of the third shelf. The expiration date hadn't passed yet; she set it on the counter and looked at her assistant again, taut with both his own misery and blatant concern for hers.

The machine rattled and burred as the beans slid into the grinder and were pulverized. The first scent hit her hard. Suddenly, Nathan was installing the machine and starting it for the first time, the sunlight slanting across her kitchen and lighting his green eyes. She could see him, hear his low voice explaining the grind options, feel the smooth fabric of his dress shirt -

The first tear slipped down her cheek before she was even aware she was crying. Quickly, she pressed a kitchen towel to her face, before Fargo noticed. She didn't need for him to see this.

He shifted, then turned around and looked straight at her, nearly identical tracks glistening on his own face. "Dr. Blake - " he started, and then his voice broke. He took two hesitant steps towards her, his arms half-spread.

She closed the rest of the distance herself, as a spring of need for simple human contact welled up in her. She'd kept in touch with people, by phone, by e-mail, even in person, but she'd kept a glass wall around her for a week. Touching someone else hurt too much. No, touching someone else who was hurting less than she was made her own pain stand out too much.

But as she closed her arms around Fargo and felt him do the same, there was no difference there. She remembered what Jack had told her, that her assistant had offered to take Nathan's place, too - and while Jack had offered for her sake, and because that was his job, after all, Fargo had offered, she understood now, to spare Nathan. His chest quivered with sobs he'd already cried through but hadn't quite let go of; she buried her face in his shoulder and let herself do the same.

As the tears subsided, she found herself holding him closer. He was warm, his skin slightly damp, and he was shaking just a little bit. She lifted her head and took a deep breath before she realized what that would feel like to him. _Oh, that's ridiculous,_ she thought. _We're both grieving, for crying out loud; he wouldn't -_

A tickle of warmth told her that _her_ body had no such compunctions. She pulled back a step. "Fargo, I - look, I appreciate your coming over, and your concern, but maybe as your boss I shouldn't let you . . . " She trailed off as Fargo's hands hesitantly settled on her shoulders.

The younger scientist looked over the tops of his smeared lenses at her. "Dr. Blake, I, ah, I realize it hasn't exactly ever come up before, but one of the, um, traditional duties of the executive assistant to the head of Global is to help them with, uh, stress relief." A blush rose to his cheeks, and he looked away as the coffee machine whistled and shut off.

"You don't mean -" She blinked. "You and Nathan?"

He swallowed and nodded. "Not until after you and he separated. And Dr. King was more into virtual reality. But - yeah." Fargo shifted nervously from one foot to the other, his hands still on her shoulders. "That's not important right now, though. I thought Sheriff Carter would - but you haven't - I mean - " He cleared his throat and fell silent.

"I didn't know." She chided herself for the words as soon as they slipped out; that sounded stupid. Of course she hadn't known. The question was, did she mind?

No, that seemed stupid, too. How could anyone feel threatened by Fargo? If Nathan had been keeping him as a piece on the side, then that was one more item on a very long and detailed list of Stark's irritating behaviors. And it wasn't exactly cheating on her, even if they'd technically still been married - she hadn't exactly stayed chaste that whole time, either.

"Stupid selfish Nathan," she murmured. "It wasn't enough for him to die a hero and leave a widow; he had to leave a widow and a half."

"I wouldn't flatter myself with a half. Maybe an eighth at most," Fargo corrected automatically. He tugged off his glasses and tried to clean them on his shirttail. "It was - I mean, the assistant is convenient for the head. It's apparently worked that way for a long time. I wasn't the first. I probably won't be the last."

She shifted towards him again. She wasn't in any shape to try using humor, but she wasn't coming up with another way to handle the revelation, and she needed to at least let him know she wasn't upset about it. "So, you're saying I've been missing out on a perk of the job?" She shook her head. "I don't know how I feel about that."

He slid one shaking hand down to the small of her back. "I don't, either." He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing along the pale length of his throat. "But I could, ah, show you. I mean, if you want."

If it had been anyone taller, stronger, more masculine, more threatening, she would have said no. If it had been anyone she had any deep feelings for, she would have thrown him out at the suggestion.

But it was Fargo, his hands warm and careful against her. And apparently he'd slept with Nathan. Somehow that kept it in the family. She knew this was an incredibly bad idea, both personally and professionally, but somehow right in this moment it just didn't matter - she needed body heat, the simple grounding of human contact, and he was offering without demanding.

She brushed her lips across his cheek. "Okay," she murmured, aware that it wasn't exactly ringing encouragement but unsure what to say.

Apparently it was enough. His mouth turned and caught hers, wet and awkward. He breathed against her cheek, licked his lips, and tried the kiss again, much more successfully; he tasted like cinnamon and salt. For someone who couldn't have that much experience, he wasn't a bad kisser. Then again, he'd had the chance to learn from one of the best.

She tugged him in the direction of the sofa in the living room; he followed, letting her hands guide him. As she sank back into the cushions, he knelt on the floor, hands at her waist. "Um, should I -"

She blinked, trying to respond without thinking. "Show me what you did for Nathan."

"I'll try." Fargo's pale little hands edged her skirt up to her hips; fortunately, she hadn't put on her shoes yet, so she wasn't wearing hose, either. She tugged her panties off, although she couldn't quite explain why she didn't trust him to do it. His fingers trailed up the insides of her thighs, light, quick motions alternating with a firmer massage; he was shaking, she could feel it, but his hands were steady. She leaned back into the cushions and concentrated on the heat in her belly.

Fargo's palm found her vulva and made small circles, warm pressure without demand. She sighed softly and shifted her hips into the motion, encouraging him. His breath brushed her thighs, warm and close.

A finger slid between her labia, parting them slightly. She spread her legs, expecting it to probe deeper, but it traced her inner lips and then found her clit, circling it lightly. She hissed between her teeth, and he backed off, tracing around it without touching it. His other hand returned to trailing patterns on her inner thigh. After a few minutes, she was arching her hips into his touch again, urging him farther.

His mouth came down on her, warm and wet. She shivered and tried not to buck into him. His tongue traced the same circles his fingers had a moment before, and she closed her eyes and moaned as he worked on her. The heat throbbed in time with his jaw as he added just a hint of suction. One of her hands clutched at the arm of the sofa; the other found the top of his head and stayed there, following his movements.

He shifted his position slightly, without lifting his mouth, and slid a finger into her, crooking it slightly. Oh, god. "You did that for Nathan, too?" she gasped between groans.

"Mmm hmm," he answered, curling his finger slowly. She arched her neck against the back of the sofa and panted, her free hand digging into the upholstery. Tears were trickling from her eyes again, but he couldn't see them and she didn't care.

His arms still shook a bit as he worked. She knew she should say something reassuring to him, but her ability to speak coherently was rapidly slipping away in the rising tide of warmth. She slid further back into the cushions and murmured "Keep going, that's good, don't stop," which lacked creativity but was at least heartfelt.

It seemed to encourage him. He picked up the pace slightly, still gentle with her, and made a sound like a contented whimper. His fingers stroked her, coaxing her into relaxing, into breathing with him, into the swell of throbbing warmth that rocked her gently and then swamped her completely.

She was aware that she'd called Nathan's name out. She suspected Fargo had whispered it, too. He slid his hand away and went back to massaging her with the other one as she opened her eyes.

"Um, anyway, I'd better go." He started to stand up; she caught him by the wrist. "Wait, Fargo," she said, puzzled, "you're not finished."

"I'm not?" He hesitated, not sure what she meant. She pulled him a step closer and pointedly brushed a hand across the front of his slacks. "Oh. Um, you just said to show you what I did for Dr. Sta- uh, for your husband."

She nodded. "And what if I said that so far you'd performed admirably, and I wanted you to finish the job?" She was surprised to find that she meant it. On the one hand, it didn't matter that it was Fargo; she just needed to be _close_ to someone right now. On the other hand, it mattered a great deal that it was Fargo. She didn't love him, and he was utterly familiar, and she needed both of those things right now.

"You mean - " Fargo blushed, hard. "I haven't, I mean, I usually just take care of myself."

"It's okay, Fargo. If you don't want to, you don't have to. But I'd like it if you would." It was the need talking in her, not even lust. Her need speaking to Fargo's.

"I, no, of course I want to." Fargo stared into the middle distance as if he were fighting back his fears. "Here? On the couch, I mean?"

"I think so." Moving to the bed would have made it more real, somehow. She knew, without Fargo having to say it, that for Nathan it had always been in the office. At least this was homier. She shifted so she was half-lying on the sofa.

Fargo kicked off his shoes and shucked his pants in one practiced move, and climbed onto the sofa with her, his arms still trembling. "Uh, tell me if I'm d-doing this wrong," he stammered, and sank into her embrace.

"You're doing fine," she whispered back as they found their rhythm together.

It wasn't until halfway through that they both stopped fucking Nathan and started having sex with each other, but it was enough that neither of them called his name the second time.


End file.
